


light up my world

by dessertwaffles



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boyband, First Kiss, M/M, it's not important to the plot but it's important to me, they're all wearing leather jackets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29749737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessertwaffles/pseuds/dessertwaffles
Summary: David is always met with a wave of anxiety right before a performance. He’ll be fine once he sings his first note, but right now his heart is pounding, threatening to beat right out of his chest. The cheers from the crowd are ringing in his ears as he looks out at the sea of glowing cell phones, their light penetrating the darkness like constellations of stars. A video screen starts a countdown in huge luminous numbers. He glances over at Patrick; he’s staring into the arena in awe, his smile more radiant than the stage lights will be when they whir to life in thirty seconds. He turns his smile on David and David feels time freeze, his world narrowing to Patrick as an answering smile forms on his face.“Let’s do this,” Patrick mouths.Or, David and Patrick are in a boyband and it's their biggest concert yet.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 46
Kudos: 111





	light up my world

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a gift from present me to the boyband-obsessed me of 9 years ago.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing [schittposting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schittposting/pseuds/schittposting) for the read through and encouragement! 
> 
> Title is from One Direction's _What Makes You Beautiful_.

“Holy shit.”   
  
David fiddles with the ring on his index finger, twisting it back and forth, as he peeks out at the crowd from backstage. The arena that was empty during soundcheck is now filled to capacity with wide smiles, neon signs, and murmurs of anticipation. 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, coming up beside David, eyes wide, fingers playing with the hem of his fitted white t-shirt. “There are a lot of people.”

“Did you ever think you’d play a show this big?”

“Nope.” Patrick’s fingers move to the zipper of his jacket, pulling it up and down as he talks. “Definitely not. I mean, I used to dream about it. But I never thought it would actually happen.”

“Me either,” David admits. In the months after Sebastien had strolled into rehearsal a day before their national tour was set to begin and unceremoniously quit to pursue a solo career, David hadn’t been sure that the band would even survive, let alone make it  _ here _ , at the biggest venue they’ve ever been to, moments away from performing to a sold-out crowd. He can’t imagine what Patrick must be feeling: until he replaced Sebastien four months ago, he’d never even been  _ in _ a band. 

“You guys ready for this?” Ken asks, bouncing up and down in his square-toed shoes that he’d inexplicably convinced the wardrobe team were the right fashion choice.

Patrick nods, Ted gives an enthusiastic “Yup!” and David tugs at his leather jacket, making sure that it is perfectly in place, that the zipper is centered and the lapels are smooth. His stomach swoops as the house lights are brought down and they’re given their cue to head onstage. 

Patrick steps forward, brushing his hand across David’s back as he passes. David can feel the warmth of it, even through his jacket, and a shiver runs down his spine that has nothing to do with nerves. He bites down on his smile, touches his mic to double check that it’s in the right place on his cheek, and joins his bandmates at the center of the stage.

David is always met with a wave of anxiety right before a performance. He’ll be fine once he sings his first note, but right now his heart is pounding, threatening to beat right out of his chest. The cheers from the crowd are ringing in his ears as he looks out at the sea of glowing cell phones, their light penetrating the darkness like constellations of stars. A video screen starts a countdown in huge luminous numbers. He glances over at Patrick; he’s staring into the arena in awe, his smile more radiant than the stage lights will be when they whir to life in thirty seconds. He turns his smile on David and David feels time freeze, his world narrowing to Patrick as an answering smile forms on his face.

“Let’s do this,” Patrick mouths.

David nods, breaking eye contact, and the loud, excited sounds of the audience come rushing back, slamming into him, reminding him that this is the biggest arena they’ve ever performed in. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. The stage lights start to go up, the cheers growing with them, and he sneaks one more look at Patrick before the first note of their opening number plays and the concert begins. 

They sing the first two lines of the song in unison, then break apart to different areas of the stage when Ted starts his solo. Once the song reaches the chorus, they meet in the middle again and execute a series of synchronized dance moves that look more complicated than they actually are (at least for David - Ted had somehow tripped and knocked Ken to the ground during their first rehearsal). David’s heart is still pounding, but now it’s from adrenaline instead of anxiety. By the time the first song is done and the crowd is cheering, he’s forgotten why he was ever nervous.

It’s been a few weeks since their tour started, but no other performance has felt quite like this. The energy in the arena is electrifying, zinging through David’s bones, making him feel almost invincible. He can tell it’s having the same effect on his bandmates: Ken’s smile is wider than usual, Ted hits high notes with apparent ease, and Patrick looks like a comfortable, confident dancer instead of a robot attempting to move gracefully after rusting outside for several days.

Midway through the concert, they head backstage for a few moments while four stools are brought out. They quickly guzzle some water, a crew member hands Patrick his guitar, and then the four of them head back onstage to perform a stripped down, acoustic version of their most popular love song. It’s Patrick’s arrangement; he had come up to David after rehearsal one day and asked to run it by him. Patrick had played and David had stood there, captivated by his buttery voice and dexterous fingers, blinking back tears while desperately trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. 

Now they’re in front of an audience, singing into microphones under bright lights, but Patrick looks over at David during the chorus, his eyes big and round and fond, and David almost forgets which words come next. Patrick is gorgeous like this, the stage lights shining on his auburn hair, a stray curl dangling on his forehead, a soft smile playing across his lips. His leather jacket is stretching across his broad shoulders, a drop of sweat is inching its way towards his neck, and he’s still looking at David like they’re the only two people in an arena of thousands.  _ Fuck _ , David defintely just sang the wrong harmony. He forces himself to tear his eyes away from Patrick before he does something monumentally stupid like throw himself at his bandmate in the middle of their biggest concert ever. 

The rest of the show goes by mostly in a blur. David performs the songs on instinct, the lyrics and choreography deep in his muscle memory from months of rehearsal. A few moments stand out crystal clear among the rest: Patrick  _ winking _ at him (or at least attempting to) which causes David to start the next dance move on the wrong foot, Ted missing a musical cue because he’s laughing at the atrocious pun on a sign a girl is holding up in the front row, Patrick hitting a note that makes the crowd scream and makes goosebumps erupt on David’s arms despite the heat of the stage lights. 

Before he knows it, they’ve finished their last song, the lights are dimming, and they’re leaving the stage to the deafening sound of the audience chanting for an encore. 

“That was amazing!” Ken yells, pumping his fist in the air.

“It sounds like they want en- _ more _ of us,” Ted says, head tilted slightly, eyebrows raised, a smile plastered across his face.

David barely notices the offensively terrible pun. His focus is zeroed in on Patrick’s wide grin, the pink flush in his cheeks, the twinkle in his whiskey-brown eyes.

“Great show, guys,” Patrick says, but he’s only looking at David. Then Patrick is pulling him into a hug, his sturdy fingers pressing firmly into David’s back, and David is wrapping his arms tight around Patrick’s neck, and he thinks wildly that this might be more of a rush than the concert itself. 

It’s over too quickly, Ted and Ken both reminding them that they have to go back onstage for the encore. David had somehow forgotten, his brain tuning out the sound of the audience the second Patrick had touched him. 

The four of them head back out, the lights slowly come up, and the encore chant turns into a roar that reverberates through the arena. David can feel it beneath his feet. The music starts and David loses himself in the beat, in the surprisingly rhythmic sound of the audience clapping along, in the warmth of the smile that Patrick shoots him as the song nears the end.

They all clasp hands and take a bow when it’s over, David on one end, his left hand empty, Patrick’s calloused fingers threaded through his right. The crowd stands and cheers and it’s exhilarating, intoxicating,  _ surreal _ that this many people came out to support them. David feels tears spring to his eyes as they take one more bow, wave to the audience, and exit the stage. 

Ken, Ted, and Patrick always rush off to the dressing room, eager to chug some water and change out of their sweaty clothes. David likes to spend a couple of minutes lingering in the wing, listening to the sound of the cheers dying down. He closes his eyes and soaks in the moment, wanting to remember the feeling and live in the post-performance high for a little longer.

When he opens his eyes, Patrick is still there, hands in his pockets, a shy smile on his face. David looks him up and down, at the way his pants cling to his muscular thighs, at the sweat dotting the tight shirt underneath his leather jacket, at his mess of curls and glistening skin, and  _ god _ , David really fucking wants to kiss him right now. So he does. He seizes the adrenaline from the encore and their earlier hug, and he grabs the front of Patrick’s jacket and crashes their lips together. Patrick responds immediately, one hand gripping David’s waist, the other coming up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer.

Patrick kisses like he sings: confident, unwavering, full of passion. David feels lit up from the inside, a fire sparking and warmth flickering throughout his whole body. He brings his hands up to cup Patrick’s face, feeling the slight scrape of his barely-there stubble, and kisses him deeper. David always feels  _ alive _ after a performance, like he’s floating on top of the world and nothing can bring him down; the firm press of Patrick’s lips enhances that feeling and he never wants to stop chasing it. 

When they eventually break apart, they look at each other for a long moment, mirrored smiles spreading across their faces. David’s hands drop to Patrick’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze, and Patrick’s arms settle around David’s waist.

“Hi,” Patrick breathes.

“Hi.”

“That was…” Patrick trails off, seemingly at a loss for words. David can relate. He’s been thinking about this moment ever since the day Patrick had first shown up to rehearsal with his beautiful voice, his sarcastic remarks, and his too tight t-shirt that stretched deliciously across his shoulders. So instead of trying to find words, he presses another kiss to Patrick’s lips, then another, then one more for good measure. 

“We should probably go get changed,” Patrick says, kissing the spot below David’s ear and making no move to leave.

“Yeah.” David glances around at the crew starting to clean things up, all of them very clearly not looking in David and Patrick’s direction in an attempt to give them some privacy. “Or…” He moves a hand to the back of Patrick’s neck and draws him in for another kiss, which Patrick eagerly returns. 

“Brewer! Rose!” It’s Ronnie, their tour manager. They jolt apart, putting a couple feet between themselves as she walks over. “Your bus leaves in fifteen minutes, whether you’re on it or not.”

“We’ll be there!” Patrick assures her, a pink blush quickly spreading across his cheeks. She glares at them for a moment, then walks away, shaking her head. 

Patrick looks over at David, eyes wide. He’s been wary of Ronnie ever since he accidentally used one of her tea bags on the second night of the tour. “I don’t want to know what she’ll do if we’re not on that bus.”

“Yeah, we should definitely go.” David turns around to head to the dressing room, but Patrick grabs his hand and spins him around before he can take a step.

“Wait. Um - ” Patrick’s glances at the ground for a moment before bringing his eyes up to meet David’s, his face eager and hopeful. “Can we talk on the bus?” 

“We can talk whenever you’d like.” David gives Patrick’s hand a squeeze and watches a soft smile spread across his lips. “Just, uh, preferably not before ten a.m. because I’m not a morning person.”

Patrick laughs. “I know, David. We’ve shared a tour bus for a month. I think I saw you before ten  _ once _ ? It might have been a dream.”

“So you’ve been dreaming about me then,” David says, giving his shoulders a little shimmy. 

Patrick just stares at him for a second, mouth quirking downward in one of his upside-down smiles. Then he drops David’s hand and starts to walk towards the dressing room. “Let’s go get changed.”

David scrambles to follow, not even trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s hard to believe that just over four months ago, Patrick wasn’t even in the band. Four months ago, David wasn’t even sure if there was still going to  _ be _ a band. He definitely wouldn’t have predicted that he’d get to perform to a sold-out crowd in a huge arena and then kiss his nice, talented, and very hot bandmate afterwards.

He catches up with Patrick, sneaking a hand under his jacket to rest on the small of his back. Patrick leans into the touch with a grin that David wants to kiss right off his lips. Later. Definitely later. They need to change first or there’s a very real chance that Ronnie will make them hitchhike to the next venue.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://dessertwaffles.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
